


The Talk

by applepieisworthit



Series: The never-ending embarrassment of the Durin line [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, So more of the Durin's being naive, oh dain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applepieisworthit/pseuds/applepieisworthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So are you looking forward to your wedding night my Lord?” Dáin turned to one of his older advisors in confusion, a slight frown furrowing his brow.</p>
<p>(A prequel to the first story in this series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Talk

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> Welcome to the next in the series :D
> 
> As always borrowing Det's wonderful characters for this story.

“So are you looking forward to your wedding night my Lord?” Dáin turned to one of his older advisors in confusion, a slight frown furrowing his brow.

“My wedding night?...” Dáin stopped himself from asking the question that was on his lips at some of the glances exchanged between a few of his advisors at his questioning tone, “I mean, of course I am very excited for it...” Dáin cleared his throat surreptitiously, “What exactly did your wedding nights involve?” smooth Dáin, real smooth, Dáin considered hitting himself on the forehead for the stupidity spewing from his mouth.

“Ach, lad! The usual ‘a course!” The biggest and burliest of Dáin’s advisors slapped him heartily on the back, a lecherous grin crossing his face as he winked at the rest of Dáin’s council. Dáin felt like groaning and burying his face in his hands – how the fuck was he supposed to know what ‘the usual’ was. No one had ever told him what happened on the wedding night and now he was getting married tomorrow and he still didn’t know.

“Aye, though it’ll probably be over for ye quite fast ma lad!” a hearty chuckle rose around the room and a few of the advisors smirked at each other over their flagons of ale. Dáin barely prevented the aggravated sound from leaving his lips as his advisors started making weird jokes and faces at each other that Dáin didn’t understand.

He huffed silently to himself and shifted in his seat, trying to decide whether sitting through another ten minutes of their torturous, incomprehensible, jokes was worth not appearing like he had no idea what was going on to them. Beside him his closest friend Bálli sent him a questioning glance.

“You brought it on yourself bâha. I don’t know why you asked them in the first place… why the hell would you want to hear about your advisors’ wedding nights?” Dáin desperately held back his noise of exasperation. For a moment he had gotten his hopes up that maybe Bálli was going to explain what happened on the wedding night instead of just acting like it was common knowledge for everyone.

By the end of the half hour long ‘discussion’ on the events of the ‘wedding night’ between his advisors, Dáin still hadn’t actually found out anything about what happens or what he is supposed to know that apparently everyone else does. 

He gets back to his room later that night, after the end of the council meeting and still doesn’t even have a vague idea of what is expected to happen tomorrow night. There is no way he will be asking explicitly for advice from anyone, as a Dwarrow of 86, and judging by how everyone had been acting earlier, the events of the wedding night are supposed to be common knowledge, especially nearly 15 years after a Khuzd has come of age.

Over the next 24 hours most of Dáin’s attention is diverted to worrying over what exactly the wedding night entails. He knows as he watches his wife dance with Bálli that he should be more focused on the grand celebrations put together by his cousins and advisors and his new wife’s family or he should be focused on how radiant his young wife looks twirling around the room in his best friend’s arms. Yet, all he can focus on is the fact that he is wholly unexperienced and completely terrified that Thira will know what is supposed to happen tonight and expect him to as well.

When it finally comes time for them to leave for the night he gestures Thira ahead of him and says she can leave all the niceties to him. He smiles at her grateful look and pulls her close for a repetition of the kiss that they had shared straight after their marriage ceremony.

He follows Thira, finally, twenty minutes later when Dwalin and Thorin distract everyone so that he may escape the well-wishers. He hurries down the corridors to his rooms, the worry over what his wedding night entails racing through his mind until he can think of nothing else. Nothing has happened yet today and he thought it would have by now so he is even more anxious, he wonders if everyone has been elaborately joking for years over what happens on the wedding night and he will return to his empty rooms like usual.

All thoughts flee his head when he re-enters his room to his new wife standing entirely naked in front of his bed in his bedchambers. His mouth falls open, his heart starts pounding and his nostrils flare as he stares in utter shock at his completely nude wife.

He stutters for a few seconds before managing to form a coherent thought, though this is only his wife’s name, “Thira…?”

“Are you ready âzyung?” Dáin’s eyes widen as she takes a step towards him, her muscles, built up from years at the smithy and rippling under her dark, hair covered skin, flexing as she walks sinuously towards him.

He takes an involuntary step backwards and sucks in a gasp as her large breasts move with each breath and slight shift of her toned body, “Thira… I…”

“What’s wrong ghivasha? It is our wedding night…” Dáin barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes at these words.

As he watches her move slowly towards him, his eyes raking over her glorious naked form, goose-bumps lift the hairs on her skin and form tiny bumps all over her arms and suddenly he’s struggling out of his armours to get to his over-shirt and whipping that off as fast as he can too. A slow smile spreads across his wife’s face and he feels his heart warm at the happiness his act has brought her.

He crosses the room to her in two large strides and places the shirt around her shoulders, folding it over her chest to help keep her warm. He doesn’t notice the utterly incredulous look on her face until he takes a few small steps back to check her over for any more signs of cold.

“Ahem… Dáin, my ghivashel, why have you provided me with your over-shirt?”

Dáin stares at his wife utterly flustered, his eyes going wide with incomprehension, “I apologise my âzyungel…”

A slow smile tilts her thin lips and her eyes sparkle up at Dáin, “Take the shirt off me Dáin, I don’t need it.”

Dáin hurries to obey his new wife, yet notes that when he does she still has goose-bumps covering much of her body, it’s when she shivers that he panics slightly, “Thira, my love, I will fetch you a blanket as the shirt has not helped.” Before Thira can utter a word Dáin hurries from the room in search of a warm blanket.

When he returns Thira has a disbelieving frown on her face, “Dáin, why are you fetching me garments to cover my nakedness? Do I not please you as a wife?”

“Âzyung, I albuth you. I do not understand what me loving you has to do with your naked state though, you are clearly cold my love and I wish to fix that.”

Thira stares utterly gob-smacked at Dáin for a few seconds before bringing both her hands to her face and groaning in complete exasperation with her husband. She smacks at his hand when he tries to place the blanket around her shoulders, before leaning down beside the bed, grabbing up her undergarments and slipping them on.

“Dáin, what exactly do you think happens on the wedding night?”

Dáin stares at his wife confused for a few seconds before gathering his courage and responding, “Well, âzyung, seeing as nothing has happened yet today then I have assumed that we were to sleep together in this bed and that is the ceremony.”

“Just sleep together?”

“Yes…” Dáin’s brow crinkles in a frown and he seems to be searching for any information he could possibly have floating around his head on what happens on the wedding night, he comes up empty handed.

“Oh Dáin… how could you not know? I... Dáin I cannot deal with you tonight, you have insulted me,” she sucks in a breath, “I will speak to you tomorrow.” Dáin watches in shock as his wife gathers the rest of her clothes, gets dressed and leaves the bed chambers for the spare bedroom on the other side of the lounge.

Dáin goes to bed that night utterly confounded, he has no idea at all why his wife could be angry with him; in his eyes he has done nothing wrong and he cannot see how anything that he said could have been taken in a bad way by Thira.

The next morning his wife is still ignoring him and Dáin is at a loss as to what he has done and what to do now, when she is still annoyed with him. Not even a full day into their marriage and Dáin has fucked up, he feels like bashing his head against the wall until he can work out what exactly he did wrong.

He joins his advisors in the council chambers after a lonely breakfast where Thira had ignored his presence for the few minutes that she was there before she disappeared off to her smithy for the day. His advisors share smirks and un-subtle nudges and when they are all seated they all direct their gazes towards where Dáin sits at the head of the table. He stares back at them uncomprehendingly.

“Ach, lad! Don’t leave us in suspense! How was it?” Dáin restrains his flinch when Kyrri slaps his back hard and grins at him from his position on the left of Dáin. Bálli, the other side of Dáin, barely restrains their sigh; they can see that Dáin is uncomfortable with all the attention and so stands to intervene.

“I’m sure that Dáin had a wonderful night with his new wife, but it is really none of our business now is it? I really must speak with our lord on an urgent matter before the meeting begins.” Before anyone can respond to Bálli they have pulled Dáin from his seat and dragged him into the spying room hidden behind the council chambers that Thorin and Dwalin had once hidden in about 30 years ago.

“So Dáin… do you know what happens on the wedding night?”

Dáin frowns at Bálli, “I thought you wanted to speak to me about an urgent matter?” Bálli rolls their eyes.

“This is the urgent matter; you must have an inkling of what happens on the wedding night? I can tell that nothing happened last night because your face is not what it should be right now and my ‘adad saw Thira earlier today, she was in a foul mood nikh bâha.”

“Rógvi saw her earlier? How was she? I must go speak to her…” Dáin turns to walk away from Bálli, who rolls their eyes exasperatedly and grasps Dáin’s arm to stop him from leaving.

“Dáin you are avoiding the question. I just told you how she is and I highly doubt she would like to speak to you right now.” Dáin stares at his best friend at a loss as to what to say, “Dáin, tell me what you know…”

“Nothing okay Bálli,” Dáin turns away from his friend, “I know that something special is supposed to happen on the wedding night, and everyone seems to know it and it’s probably something I should know by now but I don’t okay! I don’t know bâha!”

Bálli stares wide-eyed at Dáin as he rants at them. When Dáin is finished Bálli places a tentative hand on his shoulder and turns him around to face them.

“Dáin, there is nothing wrong with not knowing… though maybe you should have mentioned it before your actual wedding night,” Bálli raises an eyebrow at Dáin who huffs and looks away from his friend at the tapestry hanging on the wall, “it’s something a young Dwarf’s parents tell them on their 50th name-day celebrations, which is why you were never told.” Bálli stares Dáin down now as he tries to avert his eyes to the floor. In some ways the still young Dwarrow is so grown up, yet in others, he appears, especially to Bálli who is one of the ones who knows him best, as though he is still the 32 year-old Dwarf who came back from Azanulbizar battered and broken in so many ways.

Dáin nods at Bálli disconsolately, lifting his head to stare him in the eyes, “What am I even supposed to know about Bálli? What is it that is supposed to ‘happen’ on the wedding night.” Bálli barely resists dropping their head into their hands and groaning at their best friend’s naivety, though they do consent to shaking their head slightly at Dáin. 

“Dáin do you know how a Dwarfling comes into this world?” Dáin’s eyes go impossibly wide and he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Errr… well, when two Dwarves love each other… they… share a special kiss?” Now it is Bálli’s eyes’ turn to go wide and they stare incredulously at Dáin for a few seconds.

“Well Dáin. I hate to break it to you, but… That. Is… Not exactly how Dwarflings come to be.” Dáin frowns at Bálli questioningly.

“Why are we even talking about Dwarflings Bálli? How do they relate to what is supposed to happen on the wedding night?” Bálli restrained themselves yet again from rolling their eyes at Dáin.

“Dáin, do you know what sex is?” Dáin frowns at Bálli, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowing in his confusion, he has heard the word before but he has never questioned what the word meant because he never understood the context that it was being said in, he shakes his head at Bálli, his confusion deepening. “It’s… Dáin it’s an act of love between two Dwarrows, and… you know what I… I’m going to send you to Nanna in the healer’s rooms; she can explain everything to you.”

Dáin watches his best friend in confusion as they practically run away from him in the direction of Nanna’s rooms, he stands there in confusion for a few minutes and just as he has made his mind up to re-enter the council chambers, he feels like he has been gone from them for too long, Bálli returns with Nanna in tow.

An hour, and one incredibly uncomfortable conversation, later and Dáin has cancelled the council meeting and is striding towards his new wife’s smithy with a determined set to his shoulders and a red flush still covering his cheeks from the information on sex that he had just received from the incredibly blunt Nanna.

Thira startles when Dáin bursts into her smithy and sends him a filthy glare that nearly makes him flinch back from her, but he knows what he did wrong now and there is no way that he wants to let such an issue fester between them for any longer or become more of an issue than it already has.

“What are you doing Dáin? I’m trying to work?” She waves the hammer in her hand at him as if to show evidence that she is working in her smithy, but he completely disregards her gesture. 

Taking the five steps to get right in front of her and gently putting his large hands either side of her face, his fingers curling in the dark braids twisting back off her face and into her hair he leans down until their lips are a hair breadths apart and he can feel the rush of her breath against his own mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” Thira sucks in a sharp breath, her nostrils flare and she places her hammer down on her workbench beside them. She gathers thick strands of his dark red beard in her scarred and burned dark fingers and pulls his face those last few centimetres until their lips meet in an intense kiss. They melt into each other and continue kissing with unhurried, soft brushes that send unfamiliar sparks zinging up and down Dáin’s body.

Thira pulls back after long moments, her dark lips slightly swollen and kiss bitten and a light flush covering what is visible of her cheeks above her thick black beard, “What was that about Dáin? You do realise that I’m still angry with you?” Dáin nods his head where he has it buried in the thick plait spilling over her shoulder.

“I wish to sincerely apologise for last night my ghivasha. I… I did not recognise why you were angry because,” here Dáin swallows, suddenly nervous of revealing his prior inexperience to his wonderful wife, “I did not know what was expected to happen on the wedding night.”

Thira frowns at Dáin, her eyes narrowing, “You didn’t know what happened on the wedding night? I… how come Dáin?”

“I never knew what I didn’t know Thira, I never had anyone to tell me about what I was supposed to know,” Thira’s hands tighten in Dáin’s beard and a look of intense pain crosses her face as she recalls those years after Azanulbizar where she constantly saw Dáin about his ironfoot and had to watch him slowly but surely bury his hurt behind a thick wall, but never fully heal, “Thira how could I have known.”

“Shh, Dáin,” she runs her hand gently over the side of his face, tears standing stark in her dark eyes as she stares up at him, “I forgive you, it was all a misunderstanding, I just wish you had felt you could tell me before,” she smiles sadly at him and pulls him down into another kiss marred by the salt from their joint tears.

“I know âzyungel, I wish I could have too,” he presses his forehead gently against hers and pulls her closer against him, “but I know now.” Thira sends a smirk up at him and takes his hands from her face, clasping them in her own and leading him out of her smithy towards their quarters. She flings a flirty smile back at him, an incredibly rare expression on her face, and brings one of his gnarled hands up to press a kiss to it.

“Well maybe you could show me what you know now?” Dáin’s eyes widen exponentially and he nearly trips over his own feet as he follows her to their rooms. They spend the next twelve hours in bed together discovering a new side to their relationship and getting to know each other intimately and when they Dáin finally emerges the next morning there is a spring in his step and a smile that he cannot wipe off his face.

At breakfast in the royal visiting chambers with Dwalin, Thorin, Dís, Víli, and the rest of Dáin’s close family, Dáin is being sent suspicious looks as he happily munches his way through his food and ignores them all. After it is over Dwalin tries to corner him but Dáin manages to slip out of the room before he can, a sly smirk hidden behind his thick red beard.

He meets up with them all again in the council chambers to discuss any possible trade between the Blue Mountains that the Ereborian refugees now occupy and the Iron Hills. Thorin and Dwalin are exchanging their usual jokes on beside Dáin, the ones that he usually tries to ignore and sometimes fake-chuckles along to, to try to show that he understands them – though he never has. It catches him entirely off guard when he gets the joke that Dwalin mutters to them both at their end of the table (always quietly to ensure that Dís doesn’t cut their balls off). Dáin startles half the table when he bursts out laughing at Dwalin’s joke including his cousins who both stare at him utterly incredulously. They had both known that every time Dáin ‘laughed’ along with their jokes he wasn’t really getting it but that laugh was real which meant something must have changed. They exchange elated looks before smirking at each other.

“Aww, looks like our little cousin is all grown up Thorin.”

“It certainly does Dwalin.” They continue to smirk at each other as Dáin’s face drops into a scowl and he crosses his muscle bound arms across his chest with a huff.

“I am older than you Dwalin, I’ll have you know!” Dáin rolls his eyes as his cousins both laugh at him before an amazed look passes over his face and a big grin spreads across his mouth, “I get it now!”

**Author's Note:**

> Bálli – Dáin’s best friend – they are introduced in the third instalment in my Dáin’s pigs series.  
> Kyrri – a Dwarf on Dáin’s council  
> Rógvi – Bálli’s father  
> Nanna – healer 
> 
> KHUZDUL (courtesy of the Dwarrow scholar):  
> Bâha – friend  
> Nikh bâha – close friend/best friend  
> ‘adad – father  
> Khuzd – Dwarf  
> Âzyung – Love  
> Âzyungel – love of all loves  
> Ghivasha – treasure  
> Ghivashel – treasure of all treasures  
> Albuth - adore


End file.
